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“So… what’s your legacy going to be? And make it quick so I can avoid my daily dose of scorn from my elderly attending.”
“A movie. A really funny movie. That will be my gift to the world.”
“You think that’s a big enough aim?”
“It’s a Maddison-sized aim. I was born with it inside me. All potential, but you know how that works. A little acorn fights and battles and grits her teeth and studies all hours and analyzes twelve hundred scripts to find patterns and soon becomes?—”
“A woman too good at giving inanimate objects lifelike characteristics, like motivation and goals.”
“I was going to say an oak tree.” I shrug.
He laughs again, then checks his watch. “Shoot. I want to keep doing this. I really do.”
“But you have lives to save,” I tell him. “I get it. I’ll be here, watching this criminal.” I crouch to pet Outlaw’s silky fur.
Wow, is it good to have him back, safe and sound.
“Hey, before you go,” I say, as I wrap Outlaw’s leash around my palm. “Any clue about where I can get ramen in town these days? I checked Food Mart yesterday, but they only have?—”
“I know… Happy Ramen. So sad.”
Of course he knows that the town’s biggest grocery store, Food Mart, is only carrying our second-favorite brand. Over our year of friendship, Nick and I realized that when it comes to flavor, one brand is far superior to the other. Munchies Ramen beats Happy Ramen every time.
“So, you have a source for the good stuff?” I ask him.
“They carry it at that run-down gas station on the end of Hillside Avenue, of all places. Near the back, next to the display of lukewarm pizza under a heat lamp.”
“Perfect. I’m desperate. Good thing my neighbor brought over brownies last night, or I’d have gone to bed seriously deprived.”
“Sounds like you’re living next to quite the guy.”
“He’s alright.”
“Maybe you could pay him back by buying a couple packages of ramen for him. I heard he hasn’t been to the store for a while.”
“Probably because he’s so busy saving lives.” I give Outlaw’s leash a gentle tug. “Come on, big guy, let’s let this brownie-baking doctor get to work.”
“Thanks. See you later? Ramen delivery?”
“You got it.” I pad up the walkway, noticing now how cold the slate is against my bare feet. When I make it to the porch, I peek over my shoulder.
Nick’s supposed to be hurrying off to work.
So why is he standing there, looking at me?
He has a bewildered look about him as he gives his head a subtle shake; like he’s trying to clear it.
I look away quickly, because I don’t want to be the one staring.
I need coffee.
Buttered toast.
A handful of those raspberries I bought at Food Mart yesterday.
I need to fill Outlaw’s food bowl with breakfast nuggets and then take him for a morning walk.
Idon’tneed to stand here on this porch, feeling downright giddy about the handsome guy in scrubs who can’t take his eyes off of me, apparently.
